


The Stars Are Not Wanted Now

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>He was my North, my South, my East and West,<br/>My working week and my Sunday rest,<br/>My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;<br/>I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.</p>
<p>The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;<br/>Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;<br/>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.<br/>For nothing now can ever come to any good.</p>
<p>W.H. Auden<br/>****************************************************<br/>So there's <a href="http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Grand_Forest_Villa">this codex entry</a> in the Hinterlands, that goes with one of the landmarks. The first time I played, I had a vague idea for a funny story, but it never really coalesced into anything. I've started a second playthrough, and this time when I found that landmark, the story that came to mind was very different.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Stars Are Not Wanted Now

**Author's Note:**

> He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
> My working week and my Sunday rest,  
> My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
> I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
> 
> The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;  
> Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
> Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
> For nothing now can ever come to any good.
> 
> W.H. Auden  
> ****************************************************  
> So there's [this codex entry](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Grand_Forest_Villa) in the Hinterlands, that goes with one of the landmarks. The first time I played, I had a vague idea for a funny story, but it never really coalesced into anything. I've started a second playthrough, and this time when I found that landmark, the story that came to mind was very different.

She has them wrap Corram in Jacen's cloak for the funeral, because what else would she do? There will be whispers from the kind of people whose lives are so small they must find their joy in half-true rumors and prurient gossip about others, but she's long past the age where she cares about such things. Her only regret now, the only reason she spares even a thought for those whispers, is that she didn't learn sooner how little they matter.

At least the arling now has a rather nice villa, courtesy of her youthful obsession with what others might say.

"Leave me," she says, when the body is ready. "I wish a moment in private."

There are a few whispers, and a nervous giggle, which she ignores. Instead, she looks at her son beside her, and he bows his head in understanding, grey hair sweeping forward across his brow. And when did she become old enough to have a son who is old?

Fortunately, there aren't many people inside the chantry, and it doesn't take long for them all to leave, even the mothers escorted out with the implacable charm Corram taught all her children. Once they're gone, the chantry empty, Marguerite feels an echo of that emptiness inside her chest. She is truly alone now, with no one to help her carry this new grief. It doesn't matter that they all knew it was coming. Nor does it matter that this is hardly the first loss she's suffered in her ninety-three years of life. Every grief is sharp when it's new, and knowing the sharpness will dull with time is small comfort now.

She has enough experience to look beyond the moment and see the other side of that chasm, but it seems very far away at the moment. When Jacen died, she had Corram to stand at her shoulder. They carried each other forward through the pain, but now she's the last one left.

Corram's hands are crossed over his chest, atop the hilt of the sword he wielded with such grace as a younger man, and Marguerite touches the knuckles gently. They're knobby now, the skin spotted and translucent with age, but she still remembers them the way they were the first time she saw them, and him. Bard and swordsman: both skills were on display that night, and he was as brilliant as the windows around her now, like colored glass lit from behind by the setting sun.

Jacen loved him within moments of their meeting, and Marguerite understood perfectly. She, too, loved Corram and his brilliance for a time, though his interest in her was never for more than friendship.

Over the years, she learned to love him for other reasons. Beneath the surface flash and glitter was a bard's mind and a bard's wit, and a gentle honesty Marguerite was sure the bards had done their best to train out of him. How fortunate for her--and for Jacen--that they had failed. She learned to love Corram for his charm and his quick mind rather than for his beautiful face and graceful hands, but more than anything, she loved him for the smiles he could always win from Jacen.

How could she not love a man who made Jacen happy? Let the small-minded titter behind their hands. She was done with them a long time ago.

In the quiet of the chantry, she holds Corram's hand one last time, the way she held Jacen's when he lay in state himself. The funeral can wait a little longer. What benefit is there in being arlessa, if she can't make others wait on her? What benefit is there in living to ninety-three, if she can't spend a few moments alone with a man she loved, even if he was her husband's lover? He was as much hers as Jacen's by the end, even if they never shared a bed.

When she's ready, she rises slowly, carefully, to her feet. She's alone now, but it was inevitable that someone would be eventually. Barring some unlikely accident, one of them would always be last to die. One of them would always be left to carry on alone. She loved them both, loves them both still. Why would she wish this pain on either of them?

Steadying herself with one hand on her cane and the other on the edge of the bier, she leans down to press one last kiss to Corram's forehead. Then she turns and walks, straight-backed, to the door and her waiting family.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, all, it's been a really long week. I hope to have something a little more cheerful for you soon.


End file.
